


Hallelujah

by Thai_Tea_Addict



Category: Gundam Wing, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Duo Doesn't Always Do Nice Things, Duo Is Good At What He Does, Gen, Harry Is In Over His Head, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thai_Tea_Addict/pseuds/Thai_Tea_Addict
Summary: An undercover mission brings Harry to a military training base during the peak of the Muggle war, where he meets a boy with a devil-may-care smile and a heavily annotated bible.When Duo prays, the words never leave his lips.





	Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wrote this with a fever so whoops.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or Harry Potter.
> 
> Pairings: HarryxDuo

 

* * *

**Hallelujah**

* * *

 

 

**“I’ve heard there was a secret chord**

**That David played and it pleased the Lord**

**But you don’t really care for music, do you?**

**It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,**

**The minor fall, the major lift**

**The baffled King composing Hallelujah**

**Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.”**

 

_A.C. 195 July_

The mission starts off complicated and goes downhill from there.

An undercover mission is not that unusual for the Auror department, but this one in particular is defiantly out of the norm: infiltrate a Muggle military training compound and put a stop to suspected Dark magic experimentation that Britain's Ministry of Magic believes to be happening under the guise of Muggle military development. There is the occasional magical mishap in the Muggle world, but this is something the Ministry is not prepared for when it finally stabilizes after the Second War.

Harry Potter is no stranger to fraught circumstances.

Two years in the Auror department after fighting one of the most ruthless Dark Lords in existence has left Harry accustomed to the feeling of danger. It is not just his abilities that has earned him this position in the mission, but also his upbringing: being raised by the Dursleys makes it easier for him to blend in amongst the Muggle hordes, and his lack of proper nutrition in childhood has stunted him enough that he blends in among the young recruits.

War had recently broken out among the Earth-born Muggles and their space-faring counterparts; there'd been a terrorist attack in May that had launched the Earth-born Muggles' military into war. It's why Head Auror Robard has decided to use only those with connections to the Muggle world, as they would have files from their childhoods in the Muggle systems; it was "better than nothing," Robards argued.

It went seamlessly. Harry had used some magic here and there, memory charms and compulsions to get the right paperwork or pass certain exams. It had taken the better part of a month but he'd finally landed where he was meant to be without suspicion: Lawrence Training Base, a relatively affluent training compound settled between Norwich and the village of Arminghill, in the United Kingdom. The uninspiring natural scenery it was founded on had been turned into sprawling landscape of machine and manpower, recruits from all walks of life running about, all for the betterment of their militia.

There had been a small matter Harry could not resolve with magic. Room assignments weren't decided by one person who Harry could Charm to forget; it's decided by a host of people stationed hundreds of miles away, sitting in front of computers that Harry is just barely able to navigate. This has left him unable to fight the decision of being given a roommate.

The other male barely scrapes over 5', as thin as Harry had been at that age. The sun rises early in July, so soft beams of daylight are filtered in through the half-opened blinds and alight upon the wide eyes of a mineralistic violet hue almost shadowed by a fringe of chestnut-colored hair, set in a boyishly handsome face. A long braid is thrown over one shoulder, the tail sweeping the edge of the bed, a black book held aloft in calloused hands, many of its pages dog-eared and marked with handwritten notes.

"Hey," comes the casual greeting in a thick American accent, eyes wrinkling in the corners as Harry is given a bright grin. A simple silver cross catches the sunlight streaming in through the window. "Nice to finally meetcha. I'm Daniel."

Daniel Matthews is a boy with a devil-may-care smile and a heavily annotated bible.

* * *

 

“ **Your faith was strong but you needed proof**

**You saw her bathing on the roof**

**Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you**

**She tied you to a kitchen chair**

**She broke your throne and she cut your hair**

**And from your lips she drew the hallelujah**

**Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.”**

 

Training focuses on individual and group work, and Harry spends most of his time in Daniel’s company. Daniel is on some kind of advanced course so he hadn’t come in with the other recruits; apparently he’d been transferred in from another base that had littered his files with raving reviews about his natural prowess. He easily scored past Harry’s own marks but not once did he boast about it - Daniel was a natural people-person, getting along with just about everyone he met, Harry among them.

In the few moments when Daniel is not around, Harry takes the chance to investigate further into the compound. There is no mention among the recruits about the kind of research that takes place in the underground levels of the training compound; all trainees lacked the clearance to go further than their training rooms on basement floor level one. Harry had even gone so far as to use his Invisibility Cloak, but he can only go so far before Muggle tech puts a stop to his wanderings: it turns out he cannot 'alohomora' his way through a keypad lock.

Harry resolves to work his way quickly through the ranks – not too far, just enough to have access to those who would be able to get in through the underground security levels. His own squad leader was restricted, but with enough exemplary behavior, Harry thinks he'd be able to get in contact with Lieutenant Colonel Barrett and worm his way into the research facilities that way.

This plan starts smoothly but runs into minor obstacles when Harry develops sickness after sickness, which have him visiting the medical unit on a seemingly daily routine. Nausea, fever, shortness of breath, painful cramps – never all at once, but the symptoms show one or two at a time, harsh enough to get him dragged there by Daniel, day in and day out.

The medical staff has no idea what is wrong with him, as his every check-up shows no issue. Harry tries to convince the Muggle staff that it's possibly just a stress response and that he will improve with time, but he catalogs each instance mentally and charms the medical personnel to comply with his wishes. His magic is likely working instinctively to heal and help him, so it's entirely possible his body is reacting to Dark magic being nearby.

It is not life-threatening, just irritating. Harry has never done well in hospital environments; Daniel often commiserates with him once Harry returns to their shared room. Harry is thankful that the braided boy doesn't share Hermione's mothering tendencies, but the other male is always giving him food and drinks, as conscious of Harry's health as his bushy-haired friend would have been.

"Must be somethin' in the air," Daniel says with a frown. "Same thing was happenin' to Hooper."

"Who?" Harry asks, sprawled over his bed as his stomach roils unpleasantly. The plain yogurt Daniel had given him earlier sits on the bedside drawer, no doubt adding to the building nausea in his gut.

"My last roommate," Daniel explains. "He kept getting sicker and sicker. They ended up sending him to Exeter for medical services."

Harry thinks of the Dark magic that must be seeping up from the underground research facility, throwing a hand over his face with a long sigh.

Daniel is quiet, leaned back against Harry's knees. A tablet is propped up in his lap, where he's been watching the same video of the most recent attack. The recruits had been talking about it at breakfast earlier before they were told to keep their focus on their training. Harry had only been able to glean the most basic facts about it himself: rebel forces launching a cowardly attack during a circus performance.

"What's Gundam?" The words slip out before Harry thinks to filter them.

Daniel doesn't look up from the screen, so Harry assumes the question is not odd.

"We'll find out eventually," Daniel replies, tone candid. "I heard those who have seen a Gundam don't live to tell about it."

Daniel is young and vibrant, a flurry of grins and snappy remarks that make his presence more than just tolerable, but a pleasure. He explains things to Harry in a way that does not poke at the older male's ignorance, deflects their fellow recruits when he senses Harry's need to take time to himself. Daniel's natural charisma and open amicability earns the adoration of all those he interacts with, but there is still a part of himself that Daniel holds private that Harry only glimpses in their shared dorm.

It's there in the small things. Daniel's prayers are unvoiced, lips forming the words but never allowing the sound to leave his throat. He wakes before Harry, sitting silently on his bedside, looking out the window into the early morning sky. The one time Harry tugged playfully at the end of that long whip of hair, he had his arm wrenched forward and his body heaved up and over onto his back, Daniel pinning him to the ground and violet eyes flashing with something that sent the blood running hard in Harry's veins, a quiet threat to the words whispered in the seconds between them, _"Don't touch the hair."_

Harry convinces himself that it's better not to get too close, that he should be thankful Daniel has firmly drawn the line in the sand himself. With a known boundary, it would be easier for Harry to disengage from his new social circle; when this mission ends, he doesn't have to worry about how his absence affects those he's left behind. He doesn't have to remember to get Hubert's gift for his birthday next month, doesn't have to concern himself with Vince's new long-distance relationship with the girl he'd met before training, doesn't have to take the time to teach those who'd only just recently left the doting watch of their parents how to cook a simple meal for themselves.

Harry doesn’t have to worry about Daniel’s quiet moments in the early morning hours, with only his well-worn bible and silent prayers to accompany him.

* * *

 

 

**"Maybe I’ve been here before**

**I’ve seen this room, I’ve walked this floor**

**I used to live alone before I knew you**

**I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch**

**And love is not a victory march**

**It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah**

**Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.”**

 

Harry convinces himself that in order to blend in better among his peers, he must join them for the occasional night out. It has nothing to do with Darren insinuating Harry can’t hold his alcohol, or Louis practically begging him to come because he and Daniel were the only ones that could play a decent game of darts, or Daniel giving him that familiar grin that made his heart race and blood pump.

It's for this reason that Harry finds himself walking the streets of Norwich late into the evening. He's not drunk – _"I'm not,"_ he reasserts to an amused Daniel, leaning into the smaller boy's shoulder and admiring the light freckles dusted across his cheek – but he may be just a bit tipsy. The fresh air helps, as does the water bottle Daniel had shoved into his hands as he leads Harry out of the dive bar the rest of their compatriots are still patronizing.

Summer heat is only slightly dulled by the nighttime air, and Harry finds himself thinking nothing in particular as Daniel leads him aimlessly. The younger male argued it was a shame to go back to the compound this early in the night, but they were both sick of the smoke and alcohol drenched air of the bar, so Harry is grateful as they quickly lose sight of the establishment.

The path they tread is long, and winding, and the further they go – the more deserted the streets become. Soon enough they stumble into what looks like an area dedicated to the dilapidated and the abandoned, most of the buildings vacant and boarded up. Empty bottles and the occasional stray broken piece of foundation litter the walkways among the forest of weeds sprouted up from the concrete, and yet Daniel navigates the area with light and easy steps.

Harry feels the haze of alcohol settle more deeply into his blood, misses a step and ends up leaning against a brick wall. Daniel has stopped walking, arms hung loosely at his sides as he glances Harry over with an inscrutable expression. The streetlights are dimmed with grime, so Harry can no longer make out the freckles, but Daniel's eyes stand out on his young face.

Daniel takes a step closer.

"You're beautiful," Harry begins woozily. He wants to continue with _'but…'_ and yet the word catches in his throat, leaving what he's actually said hanging in the air. Daniel's expression shifts, clearly taken by surprise, and still Harry will not take his words back. He surmises this was why Hermione had been so frustrated with Harry about this mission: he'd be alone, left to his own devices and poor decisions, and – in her own words – Harry had _"a magnet for trouble and danger that is insatiable."_ If she or even Ron had been here, they would tell him to stop right this instant and shut up – because if he continued, it would exacerbate an already problematic situation.

And yet.

"You're beautiful," Harry repeated. "Kiss me."

Daniel is frozen before him, taking him in with those same wide violet eyes. There is something strange about his posture, more akin to a prowling cat, but it melts away from his shoulders as Daniel closes the distance between them. Harry can smell the cheap beer Daniel had been nursing earlier, can practically taste the smoke that clings to Daniel's skin, a remnant from those they had left behind. His expression is closed as he nears, something Harry had never thought possible for such an expressive person, and his heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts.

Daniel stops just shy of Harry's lips, and then the smile is back on his face – that same devil's grin, temptation and destruction wrapped all up in one.

"You don't kiss in Church unless you're getting married," Daniel whispers. His lips brush the air just before Harry's own, the warmth of his breath as teasing as his words.

Daniel pulls back, and Harry is left blinking in confusion. The dilapidated church wall he is leaned against will not be recognized until later for what it is, and so instead, Harry pushes forward and pins Daniel to the opposite wall. The younger boy does not protest, body lax under Harry's touch, and there's something haunting in those violet eyes before Harry closes the minute distance between them.

Daniel kisses like starlight: fleeting and ephemeral, not meant to be held onto. Harry holds on anyway. He pushes closer, closer, _closer;_ he can feel Daniel's chest rising and falling, can feel the cold metal of the silver cross digging into front of his shirt, can feel the flutter of Daniel's eyelashes against his skin.

The sound of an air convoy is what breaks them apart. Harry glances up in time to see it pass, a large transport of metal forms, discernible from a parade of glittering lights that lit up a host of machines. The vaguely-human shapes gave the impression of something beyond man despite being made from their hands, mortality lost in the gleam of steel.

They send a strong gust of wind over where they pass on their way to Lawrence, shaking loose the debris that clings to the crumbling walls of the alleyway they were in. Something in the rubble of the Church crashes to the ground, startling Harry as he reflexively clutches Daniel to his chest in response.

Daniel has his eyes still turned upward, watching the weapons transport with those same intense eyes that drew Harry to him in the first place. “Who do you think is closer to God,” the younger male murmurs in the quiet between them, as the last of the convoy vanishes into the night. “Machine or man?”

* * *

 

**“Maybe there’s a god above**

**But all I’ve ever learned from love**

**Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you**

**And it’s not a cry that you hear at night**

**It’s not somebody who’s seen the light**

**It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah**

**Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.”**

The arrival of the Taurus mobile suits has sent the Lawrence base into overdrive. They are only a stop along the way for the convoy, who is heading further north, but the additional forces have made the training compound crowded with people.

It is the type of chaos that Harry needs to further his own investigation, as previously locked areas are made easier to access by the sheer numbers flowing in and out of them. His subdued and seemingly vanishing presence is not a concern to his superiors, who have their own superiors and guests to distract them, and his fellow recruits seem to think he's been taking the downtime to explore his new relationship with Daniel. They make excuses for his absences, something Harry is grateful for, and presumably Daniel makes his own when he is found without Harry at his side.

Daniel does not question him. Daniel's quiet moments have increased, and unlike Harry, when he slips away – hardly anyone notices. Harry can find him if he wants, usually curled up before a computer or some empty corner in the hangar. Daniel jokes that Harry has some kind of radar for him – he's right, but the _'Point Me'_ spell is so much more than a radar – and the smile on Daniel's face in those moments often takes the breath from his lungs.

Harry's break in the mission comes just after dinner. Daniel had left the meal early to return to their room, citing something about lunch having not sat right in his stomach, leaving Harry to traverse the walk from the dining hall back to their barracks alone. It's there he runs into a frazzled lieutenant who is running through the hall; Harry is moving to intercept the moment he notes the man's badges, and then the Muggle military leader is frozen before he even registers the wand Harry has pulled on him. A dead communicator falls from the lieutenant's hands that Harry hurriedly vanishes, not even registering the cut wire between it and its transmitter.

The Imperius Curse had been allowed for this mission, so long as Harry erased the memory of anyone he used it on. The lieutenant complies easily under the curse's effects, and it isn't long before Harry finds himself being led. It's when they reach the elevators that Harry soon realizes that even the lieutenant does not have clearance to reach the lowest levels of the underground research facility, but fortune smiles upon him once more: chaos has taken hold of the base, their computer system crashing from a cyber attack that has nullified all of their security.

Harry does not wait. He pushes forward, leaving an Obliviated Muggle lieutenant in his wake as he descends to the lowest levels of the compound. Soldiers – the ones that had accompanied the aerial convoy, not the kids who made up the bulk of the recruits at residence in Lawrence – are running in all directions, most in the direction of the hangar that houses the Taurus mobile suits. Harry doesn't stop to watch, casting charms to make his presence as unnoticeable as possible as he slips between them.

The ground shakes beneath Harry's feet as he runs from one room to the next, and for a wild moment he believes it's an earthquake before another one goes off, and the screams of sirens echo throughout the corridors.

_An attack,_ Harry realizes, and knows time is running out. If he's found down here during an enemy attack, he'd have to consider the entire mission scrapped unless he erased the memory of every person he's passed and wiped the memory from the army of video cameras that manned every stretch of floorspace.

He doesn't stop, even as blasts rock the very foundations of the base itself. They come from seemingly all directions, and Harry wonders at the sheer numbers converging on this base of child soldiers – _why go so far against boys who had just barely learned to hold a weapon?_

Harry doesn't allow himself to think of Daniel. Daniel, who was supposed to be sleeping because of an upset stomach, who was likely waiting for Harry to return to their room before the sirens went off, who was probably slipping away from their squad leader to look for Harry right at this moment.

Harry should have listened to Hermione.

He focuses back on his mission, forces determination back into his steps as they take him into a quiet lab. The lights are flickering from the unseen assault levels above, but it's enough to see the bodies strapped to dissection tables, each pale and naked, the only spot of color being the dripping red of the bullet wounds lodged in every head.

Harry halts, breaths quick and shuddering. He knows he's found it, he's found what Lawrence was hiding in its bowels that it so desperately tried not to show. Harry is casting detection spells seemingly on autopilot, but they return nothing to him: the room is dead, both of magic and life.

It doesn't make sense.

Harry moves to the computer terminals, but they are fried beyond redemption. It is not from the battle above, but rather a purposeful act of sabotage; steel and plastic is melted together in an incongruous mess, nothing salvageable in the debris to explain what Harry sees. The reports scattered across the tables are filled with notes but none of them are about magic, or spells, or rituals; it is Muggle science and maths, diagrams that blended machine and man.

A large explosion throws Harry off his feet, and it's adrenaline and instinct that moves his limbs to cast the shield charm just as the world explodes in around him. His magic is the only thing between him and interior of the military compound as it is coming down on top of him, and the sheer pressure of cement and steel forms web-like cracks along the charm's expulsion.

Dust chokes the air and all light has gone now. The dead bodies strapped forever to their surgical prisons are no longer visible, and still the ricochet of gunfire and explosions is the only sound that reaches Harry through the rubble. He takes a breath before he redirects his magic, and in the instant the shield charm disappears and concrete caves in, Harry Apparates out from his possible coffin and into the ashen air of a warzone.

Harry stumbles on his first step in the barracks, eyes stinging but forcing himself forward. His wand is out but it doesn't matter, because the only people he sees are the silent and still corpses lying on the ground. Harry recognizes the faces of almost all of them. The smell of blood and sick is thick in the air, and yet among all these fallen bodies, he doesn't see the one he's looking for. Their room is empty except for dust and debris; Daniel's bible is gone from the bedside table, and that alone is enough to give Harry hope.

The hope dies in the next breath when Harry casts the _'Point Me'_ charm; his magic hovers in the air for a moment before falling still, unable to comply with Harry's instruction. The charm is foiled by only two circumstances: either the one being sought warded themselves to be undetectable, or death had claimed them first.

An explosion knocks him back onto the ground, his lungs filled with the smoldering remains of his friends' burning bodies, and Harry is stunned by the sheer pain of it all. _This_ was war, this was what Harry had thought he'd left behind two years ago when he'd walked into the Forbidden Forest intending to die, when the school he had called home ran with the blood of its occupants.

A thin sheen of protective magic is the only thing between Harry and death, and he rises from the ashes as a gust of wind from a distant explosion sends the dust away. A glimpse of the night sky lit by a churning fire laid out over the countryside highlights the gleam of metal over a giant humanoid shape, but there is nothing truly human about it: eye-shaped sockets of Avada Kedavra-green match the towering scythe that casts death's glow across the ruins of Lawrence, the air swallowed only by the sound of explosions rather than screams, because there are no more voices to cry out.

Harry sees the terror wrought by human hands, realizes through the fire and gore that it doesn't matter who is closer to Daniel's god; man was made in God's image, and machine in man's, so that all were interchangeable.

The war machine turns to him.

The world explodes into a hail of gunfire around him, but Harry is no longer there.

* * *

 

**“Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.”**

 

_A.C. 202 August_

“Relax, ‘Mione – it’s going to be fine.”

Harry shares a smile with Ron as the red-haired man passes over a wineglass to his wife. For her part, the stress does not show in Hermione's face; it's only through constant exposure that they can discern the minute fidgeting as she tugs her robes into order or peers around the lavish ballroom with a critical eye.

Hermione's quick climb through the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been met with nothing but commendations from her peers, and her goal of equality has seen landmark successes throughout her career. Hermione had argued that greater cooperation between select Muggle forces would give the magical realm a better relationship with their non-magic counterparts, all so that the notion of Muggle inferiority would finally be phased out of wizarding culture. This party is another notch in the belt of her accomplishments: a meeting between magic and muggle forces, intent on sharing more than just the most cursory of information.

From what Harry understood of Preventers, it was an international and intergalactic organization that monitored and remedied conflicts across the entire Muggle realm. Its members were considered prestigious, usually of former military backgrounds, but many of the top advisors were politicians that advocated for total pacifism. It seemed like a far cry from what the Muggle world had been seven years ago, when Harry had been kneeling in dust and gore.

"Of course it's going to be fine," Hermione responds, but her even tone makes Harry wonder if she is replying to Ron or trying to convince herself. "Everyone- _oh!_ Lady Catalonia!"

Harry half-turns at Hermione's call. A pretty blond woman is approaching them, the twist to her smile just light enough to be considered teasing rather than mean. Her lilac-colored eyes scan them quickly, a silent assessment that Harry is unable to gauge if he's passed or not; he isn't sure their Muggle counterparts can recognize Auror robes.

Dorothy Catalonia – Harry has only ever heard about her in passing. She is the one Hermione speaks to most often on the Preventers side, although even Hermione is hard-pressed to identify what exactly Catalonia's job is outside of advisor. She is said to often accompany Vice Representative Relena Darlian, but at other times she moves completely independently, halfway across the world mediating some political dispute with a sharp smile.

"Madame Granger," Catalonia greets, voice like satin. "It's wonderful to see you. I wanted to congratulate you again on your promotion."

"That's kind of you," Hermione replies, smile kind and eyes sharp. "And please – just Hermione is fine."

Catalonia's smile is wide and pearly white. "Then just 'Dorothy' please, _Hermione_."

Harry takes a long sip from his glass. He doesn't really understand politics but refuses to just abandon Hermione to Catalonia's mercies, however benign they seemed. Ron matches his look as they take identical drinks silently.

"Oh, let me introduce you," Hermione says, indicating with nothing but a glance that they better stop pretending to be engrossed in their beverages. "This is my husband, Ronald Weasley, and my good friend, Harry Potter."

They make proper greetings to the blond, whose smile retains its visceral edge. "Those are the robes of your Auror forces, yes?" Catalonia asks, although it is obvious she already knows the answer. Her eyes pause on Harry's own robes, which differ from Ron's slightly in design, with a golden broach that clasps a dragon-leather cloak to his right shoulder. "Ah yes – I've heard about you, Mr. Potter. The youngest to ever earn the mantle of Head Auror."

Hermione's amiable smile tenses just a bit. That is another thing about Catalonia – she always seems to know what is going on, both in the Muggle and magical realms. Considering she is supposed to be a Muggle, both Harry and Hermione have no idea where Catalonia gets her information.

Harry hopes the smile on his face is more friendly than he actually feels. "I'm not that young," he chuckles, brushing off the implied compliment.

Ron makes a low, disagreeable noise. "We're 27, mate – we're hardly geezers."

"Even though your joints crack every time you sit up?" Hermione interjects teasingly. Ron flushes a bright red and makes a vehement denial, successfully derailing the topic before Catalonia can properly latch onto it.

Harry feels Catalonia's eyes evaluate him again, before she turns elsewhere to survey the room. Harry sees the moment her eyes catch on something that arrests her attention, but before he can turn to look himself, she returns her gaze to Hermione. "I'm glad you're here, Hermione. I've been meaning to introduce you for _ages_ ," the blond fairly gushes.

Hermione looks mildly curious. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"Naturally, we've heard all about your heroic acts during your Second War," Dorothy starts, glancing at Harry with intent, then turning to encompass their little group as a whole. "They call you war heroes."

Hermione's voice is thick with some complicated emotion as she tries to interject a denial at the label that so unsettles them, but Catalonia continues without pause. "And I'm sure you know all about the Eve Wars on our side. But have you ever met _our_ war heroes?"

Harry's entire body tenses, a sick feeling pooling in his gut. Ron's eyes have widened in realization of where the conversation is heading, but Hermione is not able to curb Catalonia this time. The blond is leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile, and although he knows no ill-intent is meant behind that lilac gaze, Harry thinks there's something cruel in her tone as she continues.

"They're here, you know – the Gundam Pilots."

_"What's Gundam?" "We'll find out eventually."_

Harry had not kept up with the Muggle war, not after he'd been extracted from it. It was too much, it had taken too much from him; Robard hadn't known what to do with him afterwards, so that Kingsley ended up taking Harry aside, placing him on leave until he could pull himself back together. The mission itself was considered completed after Harry had submitted his report; the information that had garnered the Ministry's attention was considered flawed in the wake of Harry's reports, someone having confused Muggle advances in technology with magic. Nantotech, Hermione had said, seemed almost like magic to those unfamiliar – but neither muggle tech nor magic could stop a bullet to the head from point-blank range, which had killed the last of the human experiments that dwelled in the underground labs of Lawrence.

Harry had tried to move on. He had tried to put Daniel Matthews behind him; he resumed work but refused any assignments that placed him undercover in a Muggle environment, he'd seen the therapist Hermione herself had recommended, he'd moved into short but committed relationships that fizzled out amicably more often than not.

Seven years, but it still wasn't long enough. When his nightmares weren't memories of the Second Wizarding War, they were of a young boy with violet eyes who kissed like starlight, whose body had been broken and burned by a war machine with eyes the color of Harry's own.

_Gundam._

Five terrifying war machines that had descended to the Earth Sphere and plunged the world into war. They were enemies of the entire galactic community, up until the end when public opinion suddenly shifted in their favor. Harry had not cared to know more than that, the wounds still too fresh, instead only connecting a name to the weapon he'd seen. He'd never seen pictures of the pilot, didn't want to associate the weapon that had slain hundreds of men in one night to someone made of the same mortal flesh and blood.

The Gundam Deathscythe, manned by a child soldier: Duo Maxwell, designated only as Pilot 02.

_The God of Death_ , some had said. It had first landed in the American Midwest before it started globe-hopping; its attack on the Lawrence training compound in order to annihilate the Taurus convoy was one of many. The total amount of casualties were a footnote in its history.

_"Those who have seen a Gundam don't live to tell about it."_

Of course Harry had survived. Fate always enjoyed a good laugh at his expense.

"Maxwell!" Catalonia's voice rings out.

There is nothing to be done. Catalonia has turned and is waving someone over from behind Harry's shoulder. Ron has grabbed hold of Harry's arm, trying to tug him away, and Harry can see the expression on Hermione's face and knows she is trying to come up with some reason for Harry and Ron to suddenly leave. They could, and they would do that for him – Harry knew that.

But he stops Ron's movements, steels his spine, and then turns to face the one approaching.

The other male barely meets Harry's eyeline in height, slender frame lithe with muscle under the formal Preventers uniform. The gentle illumination from the stretch of delicate chandeliers alight upon the wide eyes of a mineralistic violet hue almost shadowed by a fringe of chestnut-colored hair, set in a sharply handsome face. A long braid is thrown over one shoulder, the tail sweeping the edge of the frockcoat uniform, a wineglass with dark red wine held aloft in calloused fingers, only partially drained by familiar lips.

"Hey," comes the casual greeting in a light American accent, eyes wrinkling in the corners as Harry is given a bright grin. A simple silver cross catches the light from an overhanging chandelier, _(kept by its owner, unlike the Bible that had pieces of a transmitter painstakingly sewn into the binding, so that the rebel forces nearby knew where to deliver their stash of explosives)_. "Enjoying the party, Catalonia?"

There is nothing wary in the American's posture, at ease in their formal surroundings even as he halts rather far from where they stand, _(relaxed and confident in a way that never earns suspicion, so that passers-by think nothing as he moves in areas he has no business in, laying explosives in their intended locations and murdering victims of human experimentation with a simple pull of the trigger)._

"Maxwell, have you met your wizard counterparts?" Catalonia asks, gesturing in their direction.

The world shifts, and violet eyes meet Harry's own and recognize him a breath later. It doesn't show in his expression or in his movements, but Harry knows because those violet eyes flash with that same emotion Daniel Matthews had worn only in the early morning hours of their shared room, _(when he'd been planning to annihilate an entire military base down to its very foundations.)_

_"Daniel."_ The name slips out from Harry's lips numbly.

Hermione gives sharp gasp to his side as Ron's hold on his arm tightens, but Harry is not moving. He can't move- _he feels absolutely sick-_

"Hi, Harry," the former Gundam pilot says softly.

Duo Maxwell is a man with a devil-may-care smile and a body count that numbered into the thousands.

* * *

**Hallelujah**

* * *

**A/N** : Aren't open endings fun? :D

**_-Story Notes:_ **

\--Most of this takes place in AC 195 July, except for the last part, which is 7 years later: Harry is now 27, Duo is 22.

\--So I kind of left this implied, but essentially: the reason Harry was getting sick so often while undercover was because Duo was _poisoning him_. (Duo wanted to be alone too, which is why he poisoned his last roommate - Hooper - and got him sent away.) Harry's magic took care of the most severe effects, essentially curing him, which puzzled and frustrated Duo. He stopped the poison attempts as they weren't working, and so in the next section, when Harry and Duo are wandering around Norwich, Duo intended to maim/kill Harry - but Harry took him by surprise again with his _"You're beautiful. Kiss me."_ confession. The arrival of the Taurus convoy - Duo's actual mission, with eradication of the nanotech experiments added on last minute - made Duo reconsider and decide to just work with Harry's presence rather than take him out. While Harry was disappearing for his mission, so was Duo, who also used getting intimate with Harry as an excuse to get out of other commitments. 

\--The _'Point Me'_ charm: Changed a bit from canon, in that it can search for people now. It worked on Duo while he was masquerading as 'Daniel Matthews' because it was a role he was playing faithfully. The charm is not infallible; so long as Duo identifies as 'Daniel Matthews' in any capacity, then it can find him. However, the moment Duo began his attack on the base, 'Daniel Matthews' ceased to exist; he once again fully became 'Duo Maxwell', so that when Harry used the charm to try and find Daniel, it could not locate him.

Anyway, I'm thinking of leaving it with this ending, but who knows.

_Thank you for reading! **Please be kind a drop a kudos/comments.**_


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